Daily broth I sip from, lukewarm bowl of inertia, metaphor in play,

On the nightstand next to my bed, amidst the small piles of books, my phone charger & my eyeglasses case,

Truth be told my lips never touch the rim, not a slurp do I take, somehow it still finds its way inside me, from the moment of awake, from the moment of awake,

And all the thoughts and yet-to-do’s swirl around and give me pause, inertia winning the moment,

Over, and over and over again,

It sinks into me and pulls me down solid to the ground,

Until it doesn’t, and I wait for the moment and then I just take one step to movement, and then another, and another,

And again I’ve broken free from,

Inertia.